


Good Boy

by Camfield



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: DoggyHide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I needed it. Because Ironhide needed it. Because Prowl is generous like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Boy

Prowl was sitting down on his berth, reading a datapad, when Ironhide came up and laid his big head on the Praxian's thigh. One servo reached to pet the mechahound, a feeling of amusement threading through his field when Ironhide's tail started to wag back and forth because of it. 

"You would think that I do not provide you with any attention." Which was hardly true, even if the red form's tail wagged even harder when he said it, accompanied by a feeling of denial and an optic that flashed on and off in a wink and a cheeky comm. Or, as cheeky as the rudimentary system could make it sound.

::Alone. Sad sad.::

"You are no such thing."

Prowl stroked over his audio shells, feeling the way the soft mesh was lined with sensor fillaments. An interesting frame, and not one that Ironhide seemed to be protesting. He had taken to it with gusto, in fact. Something that more than a few of the officers found they weren't surprised by at all. A giant of a mechahound that came up to his lover's waist when standing, with just as much mass as he'd had before. 

Ironhide pushed up, nosing the datapad out of the way and placing a paw on either thigh for stability as he proceeded to lick Prowl's face, something that was accepted with a very slight smile. ::Accepted. Better happy.::

That took him a moment to work out. The glyphs that the older system used were nearly archaic. Sometimes gleaning what was meant from them was fairly difficult. That, and Ironhide's natural wit, as he liked to call it, didn't translate that well into such stark simplicity. "You will need to try that again."

The licking stopped for a moment and a faint tinge of annoyance blew through his field. Not at Prowl, the mech knew, but at the system. ::Accepted. Happy. Not sad.::

And the licking resumed. 

Prowl finally put his datapad aside on the berth and reached up to grasp the big face. "I am glad."

Ironhide's tail started up again, and his licks seemed to try to cover every inch of available space in a thin layer of oral oils. From Prowl's chevron to his jaw, and then down into his neck cabling. Hind paws bringing him in closer, enough so that he could lick the side of the Praxian's helm down to his shoulders. Taking the resigned but not unhappy field and running with it, so to speak. Making sure that Prowl was utterly kissed over in the only way he had, now.

He'd miss this tongue when Ratchet got him back to normal.

Until then, though... Ironhide's optics glinted and he nosed at the mech one more time before dropping back down to the floor and nudging knees open a little at a time.

Much to Prowl's amusement. "Is there something you want, Ironhide?" 

Prowl was given an innocent look, one that worked much better in this form than his normal one. ::Want? No.:: Which sounded exactly like it wasn't meant, and he gave a mechahound's version of a sigh before trying again. ::Yes. Want Prowl.:: 

Things had to be so much more direct, it was a new experience he wasn't sure he liked.

The black and white mech let his legs be nudged open. Ironhide had been direct, and he wasn't opposed to being attended to. In fact, Ironhide seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in attending to him(the old software didn't have a word for interface, so 'attend' had been substituted. The look when Ironhide first realized that was one Prowl had saved in his personal memory banks, if only because seeing his lover so confused and dumbstruck was a rarity). 

A happy woof was his answer, and the red mechahound started his licking again. The rhythm didn't change much, but the intent in his field did. Everything was amplified. Intent. Lust. Happiness. Prowl could feel these very clearly from his lover, and again reached out to stroke the softer audio sensors, letting his panel open and tensing as the first lick found it's way over the housing. The longer glossa could press against nodes longer, make its way back further into his valve, and was something he found that he enjoyed a great deal.

Which meant Ironhide had picked up on that, and took great pleasure in using it. Lapping at his anterior node first, encouraging lubricant to start flowing as licks to inner thighs were interspersed between them.

Prowl had found that oral was no longer centered, but now he licked from knee joint to pelvic plate to the underside of Prowl's bumper. Wherever he could reach and lick. Always returning to the apex, the bared valve, to taste and sniff. Teasing, with licks that went no further than the rim and flickered so quickly they were barely felt. 

Just as much a tease now as he was as a mech.

The Praxian's hips twitched, valve calipers cycling over nothing. Ignoring the pleased chuff that came from the red frame at natural responses to such stimulation. Ironhide took each one as a personal accomplishment. Sounds, the way lubricant slicked his valve, the cycling down of calipers over a glossa, spike or digits, each one was met with a pleased expression that Prowl found confusing, but had long since accepted as Ironhide.

Just like now, where finally that long glossa reached deep within him, and Prowl's soft, barely audible but sharp intake of air was met with a happy wag. The glossa pressing in and drawing out in slow, deliberate motions. Using the full length of it to press along the mesh and set off sensory nodes; the width enough to press against both sides, and agile enough to twist and turn within. The black and white mech venting much harder now, fans whirring as his charge rose. Glossa reaching to press against his ceiling node repeatedly. Deliberately lingering, until a short overload had lubricant flowing and Prowl's doorwings shuddering. Charge still high enough that he was sure Ironhide wasn't finished, not with the way his glossa was suddenly moving rapidly and making Prowl arch back slightly from the continued stimulation.

A gasp found it's way from his lips, and quiet as it was Ironhide was up again on his thighs, leaving them shaking slightly. Licking his lips with lubricant stained glossa, and he pushed at him lightly until the red form nudged him affectionately. 

::Berth?::

Ironhide gave him a hopeful look, his spike already exposed from its sheathe. ::Attend, please?::

Prowl hid a small smile, but gracefully turned on the berth to settle on his servos and knee joints. “You may 'attend' me, Ironhide.”

Never let it be said he didn't have a sense of humor.

Though Ironhide did grumble at him for it.

He jumped up behind Prowl and licked at him again, the change of position too much of a temptation to pass up. Better access for the flat of his glossa to pass over the slightly swollen anterior node, doorwings again trembling slightly as charge build up. Hips moving in small rocking motions as his head dipped down and up. Ironhide had mastered the use of this glossa early on, and Prowl's reactions only confirmed that every time they interfaced. Working the mech over until he could smell the charge on him, then backing off and licking his thighs and aft until it subsided a little. Going back and doing it again, unable to catch all of the lubricant that started dripping down, but making sure to clean it up when he stopped for a second time. Relishing the whine of an overheated engine and the creak of digits clenching berth padding tightly. The slight push back against his glossa, and when he finally hunkered down and licked Prowl to his second overload it was one that had vents catching and lubricant pattering liberally onto the berth.

Ironhide took that opportunity to mount his panting lover, managing to hook his spike into the still spasming valve on the second try and thrusting in slowly. Rubbing against the black aft when he hilted himself, and licking door hinges carefully, making sure to keep tabs on Prowl's field. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been a little too enthusiastic with them, but he was careful to do his best to stay away from heavy pressure.

And then the valve was too warm, too welcoming and wet and he whined, because his spike was definitely ready and willing more in this frame than his normal one. Hips moving almost without his own volition, sliding him in and out of Prowl in a way that made the rubber ridges on the underside catch the rim. He wouldn't last that long, he knew. Already the knot at the base was starting to swell, and his front paws scrabbled just a little to hook Prowl's hips and bring him in closer with each thrust. Almost desperate to get the mech off one more time before he did, because this form didn't have the recovery time he did and one round was all he got. 

He'd found that out after 'accidentally' licking himself to overload.

It was pleasurable. The thick spike that spread mesh with each thrust, the heat over plating. The way Ironhide's new audial system picked up Prowl's soft sounds so much more easily, so that they sounded loud to him. The softest of sounds becoming gasps and moans to rival a pleasurbot's. 

Which made it harder and harder to keep going, even as he tried. Mouth closing over Prowl's collar as he found he could no longer hold back, the knot swelling even as he pistoned in frantically, though he kept his new teeth from doing more than brushing plating. The valve constricting down over his spike hard as a thrust found the sensitive ceiling node and electricity arced between them. A few more thrusts before the knot swelled up and Ironhide snarled into overload. Jets of transfluid battering the node even more, and a final overload had one of Prowl's elbow joints buckling and wobbling before he caught himself up again. Both of them venting hard, the long glossa licking the back of the black helm. Two sets of thighs shaking a little, the knot keeping them together and in position for a little less than a breem, the stretch pleasurable enough that Prowl didn't mind the wasted minutes while Ironhide's frame rested within him. Waiting for the mech to pull out, knowing that when he did the Praxian was in for another cleaning before he'd be allowed to rest on the berth.

But considering that Ironhide was currently licking his hinges very carefully and very thoroughly, he supposed he could give this a minute more.

But just a minute. He had a datapad to get back to.


End file.
